


But that's a sadder song

by Verdant_Melancholy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Heavy Angst, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 21:50:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12141855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verdant_Melancholy/pseuds/Verdant_Melancholy
Summary: This was their Song, and there was no room in it for anyone but them.





	But that's a sadder song

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for my sister, who is a Jonsa shipper for life but also a lover of pure angst. Love you, Shana. This one's for you. Also be warned this is such a hodgepodge of book and show canon it's ridiculous.

Even after all the years that passed, all the pain and suffering she had endured, Sansa still managed to surprise herself. The fickleness of others was something Littlefinger had explained to her time and again. _Remember always, Sweetling. Many men boast of honor and loyalty, but when it comes down to it, every one of them will toss both aside to gain what they desire_.

 

He was not wrong, as Sansa had learned to her sorrow.

 

Her seating placement at the feast was no doubt intentional. A calculated move done on the counsel of some small, clever man. She was placed at a spot reserved for honored guests and dignitaries. A table that is always in view and yet somehow manages to dissipate into the background.

 

Sansa did not mind. It gave her the chance to observe the spectacle before her.

 

And what a spectacle it was. Winterfell was near to bursting with armies and arms. Warriors of the North, knights of the Vale, soldiers of the Riverlands and of the Reach all gathered together with eunuch legions and horselord fighters. All united in the common desire to live through winter and see the dawn.

 

She could not recall the last time she heard a jape half as funny.

 

Blood and domination was all Winterfell had seen in recent times. A day did not go by without some stabbing or brawl taking place, the differences between the fighting men too great to overcome with a mere command from a queen. Food was rationed as harshly as possible, which only stoked the hostility and violence that whispered like undercurrents in the air.

 

The Dragon Queen, naturally, came forth with a solution to all their problems.

 

Sansa can recall perfectly the tone of her voice and the look on her face when she made the announcement. _“My good people! The time for grudges is long past. It is a time for unity! In a fortnight we shall all march to the Wall. We may very well be marching to our doom! But that is the morrow and for now we live. So let us live!”_

 

The people had shouted and roared, knowing exactly what was to come. The banquet and revelries that followed were both massive and wasteful. But Sansa could not deny that they had been effective, at least in terms of furthering the aspirations of Daenerys Targaryen.

 

They came far and wide to attend. From Maidenpool to Gulltown, all the lords and ladies who had thrown their lot in with the King in the North’s mad war against death itself slithered into Winterfell. How could they not? It was a chance to rub shoulders with other high lords and to perhaps glimpse the Dragon Queen’s fabled children (who turned out to not be quite as invincible as the legends had said).

 

Unwilling to be outdone by Southerners, the noble houses of the North came as well. There were Umbers and Glovers, Manderlys and Cerwyns, Hornwoods and Mormonts. All good and loyal vassals to the King of Winter. Before he tossed aside his crown.

 

Sansa often wondered what their foreign guests would say if they knew the truth. That the only reason they had received a cold reception instead of a battle was because of her. Because she had persuaded, commanded, and pled with the Northern lords not to fight and resist their king’s abdication. She wondered what they would say to her. She wondered what Jon would say.

 

She observed that the Queen’s Counsel was in rare form that evening, scurrying along like little ants to do her bidding. She knew the Northerners despised her (they had made that abundantly clear) and yet she persevered in her efforts to win them over. Sansa watched, feeling alone, as her lords were flattered, cajoled, and complimented into submission.

 

She saw the Spider speaking softly to Riverlords, regaling them with tales of his Queen’s valor against the Kingslayer. She saw the Unsullied general talking brusquely of the arts of war with Wildlings and Northmen alike. She saw Tyrion Lannister, her one-time husband, matching wits with Wyman Manderly. She saw Jorah Mormont, perhaps having the good sense to see the disdain in the eyes of his Mormont kin, speaking with Lord Royce who, to her alarm, seemed quite satisfied to reminisce over some past battle the two had fought in together.

 

The hardest to look upon though, was Jon.

 

The Dragon Queen was making good use of him. He was dressed in his finest garments. A satin black tunic with grey breeches tucked into knee high, supple black leather boots. From his shoulders streamed a fine grey cloak that was cinched at the neck with a silver clasp, half a wolf and half a dragon (no doubt a gift from the Queen who so enjoyed putting her sigil on all that belonged to her).

 

It was plain to see he was out of his element. He had lost much of the North’s respect when he traded the title of King for Warden. He spent the night trying to win it back. He spoke quietly with the lords, compared scars with the warriors, and tried (with some success) to compliment the ladies on their beauty.

 

The true surprise did not come until the music began and Jon Snow stepped forward to join. In all her childhood memories Sansa could not recall a single instance where he had enjoyed the dancing lessons. His natural grace was often strangled in the fear of crushed toes and minute offenses that could accompany a botched attempt at dancing with noblewomen.

 

It would appear he had conquered his fear that night, for he danced with half a hundred highborn ladies. If any lord had brought an unmarried daughter to the feast she got a turn with Lord Snow. She saw him dance with Ysilla Royce, with Barbara Bracken, with Wynafryd and Wylla Manderly. When the Bear and the Maiden Fair began to play, not even the Mormonts could keep up their icy façade. Watching Jon dance with little Lyanna and then her mother Alysane, who men called the Young She-Bear, brought a smile to Sansa’s lips that she couldn’t suppress.

 

It was a transparent ploy to win the support of her bannermen, she knew. Dangle a handsome young lord with a bright future (so long as his queen won in the end) in front of a man with an unmarried daughter and you will find him quite eager to negotiate no matter the perceived slight to honor. Sansa eyed the lords and knights spread throughout the Great Hall and wondered how many of them were taking the bait.

 

Sansa’s smile turned bitter. Marriage was the oldest form of alliance building in Westeros. For all her talk of change and putting an end to the old ways, the Dragon Queen seemed more than comfortable using whatever method was on hand to get what she wanted.

 

She knew it was a foolish idea. That it would do nothing but make her even more miserable. But since she was indeed a fool, Sansa looked up at the dais where the North’s new sovereign sat. Daenerys Targaryen wore a dress the color of fire, her silver hair immaculately braided, violet eyes gleaming as she watched her subjects enjoy themselves.

 

Sansa could feel the rage building within her. Daenerys was seated in what had once been Lady Catelyn’s place. The seat reserved for the reigning Lady of Winterfell. To her right was the Lord’s place, where Eddard Stark once sat to dole out judgement as Lord of Winterfell before the Lannisters chopped off his head. Jon had sat there at the beginning of the feast at his Queen’s request and even a drooling idiot could see the message she was trying to send.

 

_This is our place now._

 

Her anger mounting, Sansa jerked away before she did or said something she would regret. She spied Jon dancing with Eddara Tallhart but noticed she was not the only one watching. Tyrion Lannister gazed at the pair as well from over a glass of wine. It could have been a trick of the light, but Sansa swore he looked as pleased as he did nervous.

 

As if sensing her thoughts, there was a rustle of clothing from behind as her sworn shield bent down to whisper in her ear. “My brother has fallen far out of his queen’s favor. I imagine he’s eager to try and win back some of his lost prestige. And what better way than to tease some Northern ladies wet with the promise of Jon Snow?”

 

She heard a hiss from the second of her protectors. “Lady Sansa doesn’t need to hear your filth, Jaime.”

 

Sansa could picture the sly smile on Jaime Lannister’s face as he replied, “Forgive me, Lady Brienne. My tongue often wags without my explicit approval.”

 

As her guards bickered, Sansa leaned back and felt her shoulders loosen. It was good to know she wasn’t alone. And Jaime had given her something to think on. It was well known that Tyrion had been the architect of the so called “Grand Alliance” between the Dragon Queen, the Southern Queen, and the King in the North. Sansa almost pitied him for having so little time to enjoy his accomplishment before Cersei had stabbed them all in the back. What had they expected though? That Cersei Lannister would keep her word? _Idiots._

 

“May I have this dance, my lady?”

 

Ignoring the blossom of hope in her chest, Sansa looked up at the request to find Edmure Tully standing before her. Tamping down a sense of disappointment, she gave a smile and rose to graciously take his hand. They took their place on the dance floor just as the singers began to play Flowers of Spring.

 

After several moments had passed her uncle spoke up, “You look very beautiful tonight, niece.”

 

Sansa favored him with a sweet smile. “Thank you. And thank you for the dance as well, uncle. I know you would rather not be here.”

 

Edmure smiled sadly. “I fear I am poor company at feasts now. Especially for a young maid who should have nothing but smiles.

 

She saw the pain in his eyes and knew he was thinking of her mother. She tried to spare him and changed the subject. “How is your wife and daughter? Little Celia must be so big now.”

 

That teased a genuine smile from him. “They are well. Roslin wished to come, but she does not do well at feasts anymore either. Celia has been troublesome from the long travel as well, so mother and daughter are enjoying a quiet evening together.”

 

They chatted on other innocent subjects. Soon enough she found that she was enjoying herself despite her earlier mood. When the song changed to Six Maids in a Pool, Sansa looked across the floor and saw Jaime trying to coax Brienne into a dance. She laughed deeply at her protector’s blushing face.

 

Edmure gave a nod before handing her off to another dance partner as the song changed. Sansa turned and against her better judgement tried to spot Jon in the crowd. Instead she found herself staring into the solemn face of Howland Reed. Covering her surprise, she gave a proper curtsy and took his hand.

 

For some reason she found herself tongue tied. Lord Reed was a not a tall man (she overtopped him by a few inches) nor did he look very intimidating. His eyes were unsettling though. They were a deep green that seemed almost bottomless.

 

She suddenly remembered her courtesies. “How are you this evening, Lord Reed? I trust you are enjoying the feast?”

 

Despite his solemn face, the Lord of Greywater Watch gave a small smile. “I am indeed, my lady. It has been many years since I was at a feast so grand. The tourney at Harrenhal must been the last time I was….”

 

He trailed off into a sea of memories. Sansa didn’t know what to say so she kept silent. Reed seemed to remember himself quickly and moved to apologize. “Forgive me. I find myself slipping back in time more often now that I have come to Winterfell.”

 

That surprised her. “You have been to Winterfell before?”

 

Lord Reed shrugged. “Once or twice. I barely remember either instance. But I recall how fondly Ned and Lyanna spoke of their home. They always made it sound so…alive.”

 

Sansa understood what he meant perfectly. _We Starks draw our strength from Winterfell. It’s where we are born and it’s where we should be put to rest when our time comes. And nobody can take that from us, not the lions and certainly not the dragons_.

 

Her thoughts must have shown plainly on her face for Lord Reed said, “You have impressive courage, my lady. Your father was the same way.”

 

Sansa thanked him for his kindness but disagreed. “Jon’s more like father than I am.” _Or he used to be_. She continued, “When I was younger I loved the stories about honorable and dutiful knights. Now though, I’m afraid neither have much appeal to me.”

 

To her surprise Lord Reed gave a small laugh. “Honor and duty? No, Ned cared more for his family than either of those.”

 

Sansa stiffened. Lord Reed must have felt the change and quickly said, “My apologies. I have not danced with a beautiful lady since my wife passed. I fear I am out practice with how to speak politely.”

 

“No. No, it is fine. I am only being silly.”

 

Lord Reed stared shrewdly at her. Sansa could not bear his green eyes any longer and turned her attention away. She did not know why she was so bothered by his words. _A lie. It bothers me because I wish they were true. I wish father did not value honor and duty so much, so I would not have to as well._

 

Sansa realized she was tired. Tired of being strong. Tired of being dutiful. Tired of feeling like a stranger in her own home. She wanted so badly for Winterfell to be empty except for her family. She wanted to play in the snow with Arya. She wanted to watch Bran climb to the top of the First Keep. She wanted to dance with Jon and smile, hear him laugh. She wanted her father, mother, and brothers to be alive again.

 

Lord Reed’s eyes saw far too much, but they were kind. “My lady……why do you keep silent about your troubles and feelings? Why don’t you share them with your family?”

 

Sansa turned back to him sharply. “Silence can be a valuable weapon to a lady.”

 

He nodded. “That is true, but perhaps not always. May I offer you some counsel of my own?” when she nodded for him to continue he did, “I’ll wage I know the value of silence better than any living man in Winterfell at the moment. But I also know the cost. And as I have begun to grow old……I find myself wondering if the cost of my silence has not been too great.”

 

There was such a sadness in his eyes that Sansa could not respond. Her throat had closed and her heart was thundering in her chest like a war drum. At that moment the song changed, and as The Seasons of My Love began to play, Lord Reed inclined his head and handed her off…

 

….and into the arms of Jon Snow.

 

Sansa was so surprised that she almost jerked out of his grasp. It took all she had to offer a smile and fall into the steps of the dance that she knew by heart.

 

“Sansa.”

 

“Jon.”

 

_I loved a maid as fair as summer with sunlight in her hair_

 

He seemed to grapple with what to say next. Sansa wished he would say something, anything to distract her from his face. There was a pleasant flush to his pale cheeks from the long hours dancing. His hair had been freed from its binding (she wondered which lady had swiped it without his noticing) and curled gently into a dark halo. His eyes were the final piece of the portrait. The grey in them had softened to that of fog on a gentle winter morning.

 

_Had any man ever been so beautiful?_

 

“I am glad to see you dancing.”

 

Sansa shook herself from her trance and replied, “The Lords Tully and Reed were kind enough to honor me with their attentions.”

 

He nodded at her words. “You are a good dancer and should enjoy yourself. Who knows if we shall have the time to do so later.” His eyes went faraway for a moment before refocusing on her. “I had a feeling Bran would not want to attend, but I did not see Arya sitting with you either.”

 

_I am surprised you had the time to notice anything beyond the duties your Queen assigned you_. “I gave Arya the night off. She’s likely among the camps outside, accompanied by that blacksmith of hers.”

 

“Gendry is a good man and true.”

 

Sansa inclined her head in deference. She did not know the man very well but her sister was fond of him, so she voiced no opposition.

 

“We….have not had much time to talk lately. How are you?” asked Jon.

 

_I loved a maid as red as autumn with sunset in her hair_

 

She raised an eyebrow at his question. “I am well enough. I should be asking you that question though. War is almost upon us and the armies shall be marching soon, no?”

 

He nodded grimly. “Aye. It won’t be long now. We are as strong as we are ever going to be. It is in the Gods’ hands now.”

 

“Your victory is all but assured then, or so those red priests keep shrieking at their nightfires.”

 

Jon grimaced. “I am not overly fond of the Red God either, but their fires will be useful when the fighting begins in earnest. We are fortunate they have declared for the Queen.”

 

Sansa stared blankly at him. _Fortunate? They babble about prophecies and fire gods day in and day out. I shall keep to the sept or to the Godswoods, thank you very much._

 

Before she could give a proper response, he bowled over her. “Let us speak of more important matters.”

 

“And what matters would those be?”

 

“This rift between us that has come about since I returned from the South.”

 

Sansa sucked in a sharp breath. _So you have finally worked up the courage to give a name to this sad state we find ourselves in?_

 

Jon continued speaking, “I understand that you might be….upset about some of the decisions I have made. But I want to you to know that everything I did, it was for the good of the North. For the good of all of Westeros.”

 

Sansa could not believe what she was hearing. Could not believe his audacity and cruelty.

 

“Good of the North? Do you think me stupid, Jon? You have shackled us to that ugly iron chair once more. When winter passes we shall have no choice but to send our fathers, brothers, and sons off to the South to die in Daenerys Targaryen’s fool quest for a chair made of broken swords. What a truly _righteous_ campaign that shall be.”

 

Jon sighed dejectedly. “If only you would come to know her as I have, you would see—“

 

Sansa saw red. “ _Know her?_ What do you truly know of this foreign invader, aside from what she looks like after being fucked?”

 

_I loved a maid as white as winter with moonglow in her hair._

 

Jon froze. His legs stopped and he stood still in place while other couples danced around them. A few gave him curious looks but swiftly turned their attention back to their steps. Sansa halted as well.

 

A sense of triumph flowed through her. _Did you think nobody knew? Did you think the two of you were being discrete? How could you think that, when she drapes you in her colors as if you were a whore? How could you, when you walk through our home stinking of that woman’s flesh?_

 

Sansa waited for him to explode, to roar with fury and lash at her with harsh words. He never did. Jon seemed to take a deep breath before offering her his hand once more. Wary, she took it without a word.

 

They continued their dance with no hurry to their steps. Jon’s face had not changed. There was no furrowed brow, no gritted teeth, and no twitching jaw. It was as if she had said nothing at all.

 

Until she noticed his eyes.

 

Sansa stiffened and almost tripped over herself. Jon’s eyes had darkened to two black pits, cold and unforgiving. They were the eyes he reserved for those he considered threats. For those he considered enemies.

 

“Jon, I-“

 

“Enough,” she winced at his tone. “You have made your position abundantly clear. Allow me to do the same. You are the Lady of Winterfell and my sister. We will speak together on the matters of ruling the North as well as Winterfell.”

 

She opened her mouth to try and explain herself but he cut her off again. “Let me be sure there is no confusion though. The topic of who I _bed_ and more importantly who I _marry_ , are no concern of yours.”

 

That frightened her more than his cold tone. _Marry? I did not say anything of marriage. Why do you speak of it so, Jon?_

 

She did not get a chance to ask. The song ended and Jon tore his arms away from her. He did not even look at her as he stormed away, his cloak fluttering to the angry steps of his boots.

 

Feeling shaky and weak, Sansa retreated back to her seat. There was a queer feeling in her belly. Like someone had driven a fist into it and had yet to remove it.

 

When had everything gone so wrong? Her life had been close to a dream after Winterfell had been retaken. She was home again with her family. Safe and warm. Where had those feelings gone?

 

The feast continued on for some time but her awareness was muddled as she withdrew into herself. She was vaguely aware that a few more invitations to dance had come her way but she waved them aside. Dancing was the last thing she wanted at the moment.

 

It was the Dragon Queen’s voice that eventually snapped her from the stupor she was in. Sansa, as well as all the other lords and ladies, turned to see what Daenerys wanted. She had been content up to that point to sit alone and observe.

 

“My friends, I hope you have all feasted well. Happiness and joy are rare commodities in Westeros at the moment. It is a sad thing to admit, but it is the truth. We must take every small moment that we can find and hold them tight to our chests. But I digress. Allow me the honor of sharing in a dance with you noble lords and beautiful ladies?”

 

To Sansa, the roar of approval that came as a response to her request was nothing short of keening.

 

Daenerys began to descend from the dais, the thin dragon crown perched on her head reflecting off the torches in the room and giving her a fiery glow. As if on some pre-arranged command the singers all stopped and began to rearrange themselves in a frenzy of activity. Sansa watched, curious despite herself. The Dragon Queen was heading straight for the center of the dance floor and, as if facing a coming storm, couples began to move aside to make way for her.

 

Jon Snow met her in the center of the room just as Two Hearts That Beat as One began to play.

 

Like the rest of the nobles, Sansa could only suffer in silence as the Wolf and the Dragon fell into each other’s arms. If Sansa had been watching for the reaction of others, she would have seen clearly the moment when all the smiles died. She would have seen the shock, then surprise, and then the anger. Would have seen eyes darken and mouths curl in disdain. Would have seen Tyrion Lannister grimace and turn away as all his hard work for the night was wiped away with a single dance.

 

Sansa saw none of these things. Her attention was focused solely on the pair before her. Once again the Dragon Queen proved herself overt rather than subtle. Her choice of song left little question of her feelings or her intentions.

 

They were neither the best nor the worst of dancers. Yet there was a vulgarity to them, an obsceneness in the way they held and twirled one another. You needed only to glimpse their faces to complete the scene. They gazed upon one another as if there was no world beyond the two of them. As if everything hinged on the beating of their hearts as one.

 

And would they be wrong? Sansa did not know, but a sickening feeling in her soul was beginning to make her think they were right. That everything that had happened in Westeros, all the horrible, painful events were nothing more than a preamble to their union. She thought of King Robert’s visit to Winterfell and her betrothal to Joffrey. Bran’s fall and quarrelling with Arya. Lady’s death and the image of her father’s feet jerking. Her beatings on the order of a king. Robb and her mother’s deaths. Littlefinger and her aunt Lysa. Rickon.

 

Ramsay.

 

Her entire life laid out before her, yet in the grand scheme of fate, nothing more than the insignificant verses in a song before the real part begins. The thought made her ill and so very, very weak. But she could not look away as Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen danced together, close as lovers.

 

This was their Song, and there was no room in it for anyone but them.

 

Sansa could take no more. She turned her head away and scanned the crowd. Much of the anger had ebbed away into a throbbing unease. A shroud of destiny was settling over the Queen and her Warden. No one knew what that meant for the future. Among the throng of people she spotted Howland Reed standing apart. His face was pinched in sorrow as he watched the scene before him, as if finally realizing the true cost of something he had been paying for years. Fate had come calling and it was time to collect all debts.

 

Sansa did not think it could get worse. Until the song finally ended and Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen continued to twirl in silence, dead to the world and everything in it except each other.


End file.
